


FFVII Folk Tales: The Draught of Life

by ixieko



Series: FFVII Folk Tales [21]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Folklore, Gen, Original Character(s), Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5623327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixieko/pseuds/ixieko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long, long ago, when Churindari was as green as its name, a big willow bush that grew in the tundra between the mountains of the North and the forests of the East gave birth to a girl...</p>
            </blockquote>





	FFVII Folk Tales: The Draught of Life

Long, long ago, when Churindari was as green as its name, a big willow bush that grew in the tundra between the mountains of the North and the forests of the East gave birth to a girl. Her hair was blue-green, shimmering silver under sunlight like willow's leaves, and her skin was bright brown like willow's bark, and she called willow her mother. All the animals of tundra loved the girl. Trickplays brought her pine nuts, bears brought her sweet honey, deer gave her their milk and let her ride on their backs. They called her by the name Nimsa, which in the language of our ancestors mean "supple".

Though loved and cared for, the girl still was not happy, for every animal had a pack of their own, only she was alone among them. The willow saw her sadness, and one day she asked, "O my daughter, why are you unhappy?"  
"I look at the tundra and see herds of deer, I look at the sky and see flocks of birds, I look into the water and see schools of fish," Nimsa said. "Even the nasty mosquitoes are gathering into big swarms, but there is no one like me. Am I the only one, Mother?"  
The willow sighed, her leaves trembling with the wind and the feeling of the upcoming parting. "There are the others like you," She said. "Follow the river down to its mouth, or go up the streams that flow from the eastern hills, or go to the western shore, and you will find them. Only to the North they do not dwell, and you should not go there as well."

Soon Nimsa left the place of her birth and went first to the eastern forests in search for her people. Days and night she went, until the tundra gave way to the green fields and tall trees, and there she found a small village. Though people there did not look exactly like her, for their skin was darker, and their hair was black, they welcomed her and let her live among them. Nimsa knew the tundra well, knew which herbs and mushrooms helped with diseases, and soon she became village's most trusted healer. She was so happy to live among them that her visits to the tundra to talk to the animals and see her old mother willow grew fewer and fewer.

"Why do you never go to the northern mountains?" She asked the village saman once, and he said, "The mountains are the home for the tribe of ycher-asis, the witches, who do not respect the land and spirits. We do not wish to talk to them."

Five years passed in peace and happiness, but once in the beginning of spring, when winter cold just ended and the taiga was waking up from its winter sleep, a terrible plague attacked the village. Old and young were suffering and dying, and no potion, no spell could help them. The villagers who were not ill, gathered in the chieftain's house to decide what to do.  
"We should go to the Sacred Forest," The saman said. "The Elders will know how to cure the sick."

The messengers were sent the same day, but a week later there still was no signs of them or help from the Elders.  
The villagers gathered again.  
"Nimsa, did you try everything you know?" The chieftain asked the girl.  
"Yes," She said. "I tried every last one herb and every mushroom I know, and every spell you taught me."  
"We have no choice but to wait until the messengers return," The saman said.  
But Nimsa asked, "Why don't we ask the ycher-asis for help, too?"  
"We do not talk to them," The saman said. "They are abominations and should be avoided."  
"If we wait, more people will die," Nimsa insisted. "If you all are too proud to save your own wives and children, then I will go and talk to the ycher-asis."  
With that, she left the meeting and went to her hut, and took a sharp knife and a sturdy staff, and went to the tundra. There, she cried like a deer, calling one of her friends. He came, and she asked him to carry her to the northern mountains.  
"Why do you need to go there?" The deer asked, trembling in fear. "The evil ycher-asis live there, they eat us and make monsters that kill us. I won't carry you here."  
"Then take me half the way," The girl said. "I'll go the rest on my feet."  
"Don't go there," The deer pleaded. "The ycher-asis are not the ones who help, they are the ones who kill."  
But the girl did not heed his words and insisted that he carried her for half the way.

Once he brought her to the foot of the Northern mountains and hastily ran away, she went the rest of the way on foot. The mountains were tall, and the cliffs were steep, but Nimsa was determined to find the witches and get them to help the villagers. By the end of the day she found the dwelling of ycher-asis, that looked like a bunch of bird-nests made of clay and tree branches, built right on the side of a cliff. No road led to the strange houses, no steps, and the cliffside was too steep to climb it.

"Hello!" Nimsa shouted. "I came in peace! Please, talk to me!"  
One of the witches looked out of her window and, seeing the girl, flew down to her on black wings covered in shiny black feathers. The witch was young and beautiful, and her voice was sweet and kind when she said, "Hello, young girl. What brought you here?"  
"My village was struck by a terrible illness," The girl said. "Please, help us; I heard that your people are versed in ways of life and death, can you help us fight the plague?"  
The ycher-asi said, "This is not a brief talk, human. Hold on to me, I will bring you into my house."  
The witch gave Nimsa food and water, and asked her to wait while she talked to her sisters. All night their talked, and in the morning, when the sun rose above the horizon, the witch returned and said, "Your people never wanted to talk to us. They fear and hate us, but still you had come. Are you not of their tribe?"  
"No," Nimsa said. "I am a daughter of an old willow that grows in the tundra."  
The ycher-asi's eyes shone with greed, and she said, "I will help you, if you will bring me you mother's root."

The witch brought the girl down to the foot of the mountains and said, "I will wait here for one day and one night. If you will not return by the next dawn, I will not help you."  
Nimsa then went to her mother and told her about the plague. Sad was the old willow, for she had only one live root, but she said, "Take my root, then, my daughter. I am old and I lived a good life, and if my death is needed to save children of your pack, then so be it."  
The willow gave her root to Nimsa, and died, her leaves withering and her bark losing its bright color. The root was large and dark, and inside it a small glowing red orb was embedded. Weeping, Nimsa turned back to the Northern mountains and went to meet the witch. The animals of tundra saw her, but seeing what was she carrying, they were too scared to talk to her and stayed away.

The witch laughed in triumph when she saw Nimsa. "You did well, girl," She said. "Now give me the root and wait here, I will bring you the cure."  
For the whole night the girl waited, and when the dawn came, the witch returned and brought a bottle of shimmering green liquid.  
"This is the Draught of Life," She said. "It will cure any illness and give your people more years of life than they could hope for. Go now, girl, before I changed my mood and took it back from you, for it's a treasure my sisters find too precious to share with others, and I had to steal it from them."  
Nimsa took the bottle and ran away.

When she returned to the village, she found that the messengers still had not returned. She gave the Draught of Life to the chieftain and told him how she acquired it.  
"We are grateful to your mother and you," He said. "We will never forget your sacrifice."  
They gave the draught to the ill, and they were cured. Everyone was happy, and only the old saman was somber. "We should not trust the witches," He said. "They are evil and cruel, it's not in their nature to help those in need. We should wait for help from the Elders."  
"But the witches helped," Nimsa argued, "And the Elders did not. How do you even know they are going to help us? Long time passed since the messengers were sent, and yet there is no sign of help."

The plague was defeated with the help of the Draught of Life, and the life in the village continued peacefully, but the messengers were still missing. When the warm wind from the Southern seas brought summer in Churindari, the chieftain sent another two young men to search for the missing ones. Nimsa went with them, for she was curious about the Elders.

For two days they travelled through field and forest, until they came to the wall of tall trees and one of the hunters said, "This is the Sacred Forest."  
For a day more they travelled through the beautiful forest, light with sunrays and filled with bird songs, where no dangerous animal lived, until they came to the village of Elders, and the chieftain of the Elders met them and asked why did they come.  
"We were suffering from a terrible disease," The hunter answered, "And sent two of our people to ask help from you, but they did not return. Have you seen them?"  
Frowned the chieftain and said, "No one came into our village since the last summer." He called one of his men and asked him to go and look for any traces of the missing people, and then he invited the hunters and Nimsa to his house.  
"How did you cure the sick?" He asked when they all were seated at the table. "How many people died?"  
"Only a few died," Answered Nimsa. "I asked the ycher-asi tribe for help, and they provided us with a cure."  
"What have you done," The Elder said. "Have you not known that ycher-asis are not to be trusted? Hurry, we have to get to your village as soon as we can."

On their way back to the village of hunters, they met the Elder that was sent to search for the missing messengers.  
"I found them," He said gravely. "Or rather, what was left of their corpses weeks after their death."  
"How did they die?" The Elders chieftain asked.  
"Their skulls were smashed."

They buried the remains of the dead, and went on, as quick as they could. But when they reached the village, they found it empty. The houses where untouched, looking like the inhabitants left just minutes ago and would soon return.  
Leaving the village behind, they hurried to the Northern mountains. There they found the villagers, who set up a camp near the ycher-asis' village.

"Too late," The Elders chieftain said, when he looked at the villagers. "The ycher-asi's curse already dwells too deep inside their souls. They are lost to us now."  
"No," Nimsa said. "It cannot be. The Draught of Life saved their lives, why would it curse them?"  
"Because it was not the Draught of Life. It was the green blood of the land, enchanted with ycher-asi's dark magic. It can cure wounds and diseases, but bounds the souls to ycher-asi's will. Now they all are but slaves of the evil witches."  
Nimsa then ran to the villagers and asked them to come back home, but they only looked at her with empty eyes and said nothing.  
"Why did you lie to me!" She shouted, running up to the village of witches. "I gave what you demanded, and you said you would help!"  
"I helped you," The ycher-asi said from her hut. "They will live far longer that they could hope, and no disease will touch them anymore. Now go, girl, before I took your soul as well."

Crying, Nimsa returned to the Elders and two human hunters.  
"What did you give them in exchange for their cure?" The Elder asked.  
"The root of my mother the old willow," The girl said, weeping.  
The Elder said then, "Foolish girl! Your mother was one of the sacred keepers of the tundra, planted by Eneen Dunneh herself. Her power helped to lock the evil witches inside their mountains; now the barrier is growing thin and could not hold them anymore."

Upon hearing that, Nimsa cried out and ran away in shame and despair. Through the hills and forests and tundra she ran, and stopped only at the place where her mother willow once stood. There she fell down to her knees and wept, calling out for her mother, begging Eneen Dunneh for forgiveness. Heard her the Goddess of the Land, and granted her wish; girl's hands, outstretched to the sky, grew thin and turned into willow branches, and minutes later there was no girl, only a young, thin willow covered in blue-green leaves was whispering with the wind.

Came to the willow the animals that were Nimsa's friends, and mourned for her, but the young plant said to them, "Do not be sad, for I am alive. My mother died, and I took her place as the new sacred guardian of the tundra."

They say that the old willow still stands somewhere in the tundra, now covered in thick snow. She sleeps there, waiting for the longest winter to end, waiting for the sun to melt snow and warm her frozen branches. Trickplays love to dig their burrows beside her sleeping body, but they never bite at her; instead, they bring her sweet nuts and tell her stories about people who still live in Churindari.

_(From “The tales of North”, Evan Marius, 1932)_


End file.
